


Pyrophobia

by Oricalle



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble, F/F, Fluffy Ending, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: Even in her new life, the ghosts of the past cling to Gunnthra.  Someone helps her to repel them.
Relationships: Gunnthrá/Laegjarn (Fire Emblem)
Kudos: 11





	Pyrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same universe as most of my Laegjarn/Gunnthra fics, with both of them summoned to Askr after their deaths in their original worlds! This fic in particular is a bit of a followup to "Worth of a Broken Blade", but you don't need to have read that story to understand this one!
> 
> Content Warning: This fic contains a depiction of a character having a panic attack due to past traumatic events. Please only read if you feel comfortable! <3

“Are you certain that you’re ready? This is not something you should feel required to do right now.”

Gunnthra breathes in deeply, using every bit of self control she has to stay calm. She sinks the tips of her fingers into the rug she sits cross-legged on, lets herself soak in the moonlight dripping through the dormitory window, and nods at the woman kneeling across from her.

“I’m ready.”

Laegjarn looks slightly unconvinced, but a soft smile and another quick nod of Gunnthra’s head is enough to persuade the former general to relent. She leans over the glass jar that rests between them, filled with dried bits of plants Gunnthra can’t recognize, and withdraws a match. In a single, practiced motion, she sparks it to life, and dips the flame into the tinder.

The fire spreads slowly, Gunnthra watching as it ignites the mixture and begins to glow in the dim light. Voices inside her begin to whisper of danger and pain as horrible memories threaten to come to the forefront of her mind. 

She tries her best to think of pleasant things, of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the smell of freshly baked sweets, of Laegjarn’s bashful smile and quiet laugh. She uses them to ground herself, struggling to keep the flame in the center of her vision.

As it flickers, writhing in its confines, a thin trail of smoke begins to rise from the flame. Gunnthra follows it with her eyes, watching it dissipate in the room’s stagnant air. It bears so little resemblance to the fires that rage in the corners of her most persistent recollections, spewing and twisting like gray pillars into the night sky. This burn is controlled, its effects barely even perceptible.

From across the flame, Laegjarn watches with concern. 

“Are you-”

“I’m okay.”

The words come naturally, no trace of falsehood in them. She still feels safe, even as she watches the fire spread deeper inside the jar’s confines, the blaze creating thin orange lines amidst the burning debris.

A gentle warmth is emanating from the jar now. It brings back memories of a different time, one still untouched by war and death. Memories of a family not yet broken, and of a life not yet lost.

She can see, in her mind’s eye, the dimly lit sitting room of Castle Nifl, warmed by a grand fireplace. She can almost feel the familiar texture of one of the sofas on her fingertips, an imaginary book weighing down her lap. Nearly hear the impacts of wooden weapons from the training yard below, with Hrid and Fjorm’s grunts and shouts intermingled with the wind chimes that her mother had hung outside the window. 

Almost unconsciously, she leans slightly closer to the jar, towards that welcoming heat. 

A familiar scent catches her nose, that of burning. At the same time, she realizes she has drawn nearer to the fire, and its gentle undulating looks so much less peaceful from this distance.

It is a momentary lapse in her mental defense, and the peaceful scene in her mind suddenly changes.

Her breath hitches, her thoughts race, and she finds herself unable to move, panic keeping her frozen to the spot.

With a swift motion, the jar’s lid is forced back upon it, smothering the fire within. Before Gunnthra even realizes what’s happening, Laegjarn’s hands are on her shoulders, her girlfriend looking at her with worry.

“Gunnthra? Are you well?”

“I...I’m sorry, I…”

She feels weak. Utterly pathetic. Defeated. Shame and fear race through her in equal parts.

“No, no, do not apologize.”

She barely feels the kiss on her forehead, Laegjarn’s ministrations outdone by the sheer volume of emotions pounding at the inside of her skull. Gunnthra feels it all again, the touch of Surtr’s hands on her shoulders, the heat of her robes and skin being set aflame, the anger and sadness and pain and failure and loss and fear and she feels all of it, all at once.

It’s not supposed to happen like this.

Someone takes her hands, and for a moment it terrifies her, but this touch is so different from the one she’s reliving. This is warm and gentle, its grip ginger but firm as it guides her across the room. She allows herself to be moved, though her legs are quaking and her breathing is growing heavy. There is a voice somewhere inside her head, barely audible beneath the panic, that tells her that she needs to trust the guide now.

Before she can even realize it, she’s at the edge of the dormitory bed, and Laegjarn is helping her climb into it.

Because of course it’s Laegjarn. Laegjarn, who has told her time and again that she will always be there for her, whose hands are warm and voice reassuring, telling her to lie still and focus on breathing.

Gunnthra tries to obey the routine. Five seconds inhaling, five to hold, five exhaling.

But, as she breathes in, she feels the phantom strike of a remembered blow to the stomach, and it sends her back to sputtering. The fear threatens to seize control again.

“I’m here.” comes a loved one’s voice.

“Focus on me.” it says.

And she does.

Laegjarn’s arms, covered in long linen sleeves, wrap around her midsection and take her hands in theirs.

Her legs are pinned between Laegjarn’s, and the fear of being unable to flee is quickly nullified by the knowledge that she is being protected.

Laegjarn’s chin lands on her shoulder, and she sees green and red in her peripheral vision as a voice tickles her ear.

“I’ve got you.” she says.

And Gunnthra knows that she does.

Laegjarn’s form is surrounding her, keeping her held firm and tight enough that she can feel the rising and falling of her chest on her back. She is trembling, still, but the gentle heat that surrounds her now is an entirely different sensation than the flames that once tormented her.

The searing pain fades slowly from her memory, pushed away by the waves of relief that she feels as Laegjarn continues to speak.

“It’s in the past. It’s over now. You are safe. You are loved. You are home.”

Gunnthra draws in a shaky breath, nodding as Laegjarn kisses her cheek.

“With me now, okay? Safe. Loved. Home.”

“Safe.”

Though she had felt silly repeating the mantra at first, Gunnthra had learned that it could be quite potent.

“Loved.”

As the words leave her lips, resonating in the silent room, she focuses on the sound they make, something undeniably real in the fog of panic, like a light at the end of a dark hallway.

“Home.”

The shaking has all but subsided now. Laegjarn’s grip loosens, just enough for Gunnthra to start regaining feeling in her extremities. She flexes her fingers, wriggles her toes, making small movements just to reassert control. The worst of the episode has passed now, she knows, but the aftershocks are coming.

Embarrassment shoots through her as she sighs, bunching the blankets up in her fingers.

“I’m so sorry. I...I let my guard down.”

Laegjarn hums, a deep sound that resonates in her chest. She leans in close to Gunnthra, planting a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

“You have nothing to apologize for, dear one. Nothing at all.”

Gunnthra shakes her head.

“If the people of Nifl could see their Princess now...reduced to tears over a candle.” 

She had never been fit to rule. Never been sure of what she was really doing, just using diplomatic language and falsified serenity to try and lead a people under horrific attack.

“Well, in the absence of the people of Nifl, I’m afraid you just have me.” 

As Laegjarn speaks, one of her fingers slides across Gunnthra’s cheeks, scouring the tears away.

“And all I saw tonight was a Princess of Nifl challenging her fears, refusing to bow to the cruelties fate so unjustly thrust upon her.”

Gunnthra closes her eyes, leaning back into Laegjarn’s ministrations, letting her loved one take care of her, if only for a while.

“That’s kind of you to say, Laeg. I just wish I didn’t…react so strongly.”

“Last week you said something similar.” Fingers part Gunnthra’s hair as they stroke at it, tenderly moving down her neck and rubbing at her shoulders now. “And you recovered so quickly tonight. You are improving, Gunnthra.”

Gunnthra’s lips curl slightly upwards at the praise. She takes a deep breath of cool evening air, free of smoke or ash, continuing to force herself to stay in the present, lest she drift back into the past. Laegjarn’s arm, lined with muscles and scars, serves as an anchor as she leans into it, resting her head against her lover.

“I...suppose that’s true.” she replies, a slight waver in her voice. A voice inside of her continues to scold her for the pauses in her speech, to berate her for her vulnerability, to shame her for her humanity. She was meant to be as the ancient monarchs of Nifl were, everlasting and untouchable as ice itself.

Another kiss from Laegjarn pulls her back from that particular brink, and Gunnthra wonders if her girlfriend knows how much she’s helped her. How she inspires and encourages her, how she makes every day brighter and every night warmer.

“You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, Laeg.” she whispers. She can feel Laegjarn stiffen slightly, never one to take a compliment in stride. She doesn’t reply, so Gunnthra settles for turning to face her, maneuvering her arms within Laegjarn’s grasp to hold her in return. 

They both, Gunnthra knows, have a long way to go. But as she smiles at her through teary eyes, and watches the way Laegjarn’s face goes red in return, she can’t help but believe they’ll both make it through.

She is no longer the Queen of Nifl, no longer in her home world, no longer anything she had ever been prepared to be.

But Gunnthra is safe, she is loved, and she is home. And here, she needs be nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Super Secret Author's Notes:
> 
> \- Laegjarn holds Gunnthra close until she falls asleep. Just in case of aftershocks. Gunnthra certainly doesn't mind.
> 
> \- I headcanon Gunnthra's home life as being somewhat secluded, engineered to raise her as an ideal "queen" and diplomat, with few real outlets for her own personal anxieties and pain. I'd like to write more on that sometime, I think!
> 
> Huge thanks to Mal for giving this fic a beta read! So this was an idea that I had during Broken Blade, but it felt like something that would happen only after the events of that fic, so I held off on writing this scene until now. This one is a bit personal, I suppose, in that I drew on a lot of my own experiences with grief, fear, and consolation to write it. It's also meant to be cathartic, in a way, but you're certainly welcome to interpret it any way you like. 
> 
> Any and all feedback is very welcome, I love to receive it! I'd be glad to respond to any questions in the comments below, and you can find me on Twitter @Oricalle!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day!


End file.
